Collision
by Lady Jocacia
Summary: HPBuffy crossover. 5 years after HBP, Voldemort is dead. Harry, Ron and Hermione are Aurors and the Slayer’s abilities are needed in England. But Harry is traumatised, Buffy’s disillusioned, Willow is afraid of using magic, and Snape returns. Chp 4 up!
1. Prologue: The Man Who Defeated Voldemort

**A/N: **This fic is a Harry Potter/Buffy crossover, with a greater emphasis on the HP characters. It is set five years after the death of Dumbledore, four years after the defeat of Voldemort, and near the end of the last season of Buffy. The locations are Sunnydale and Britain. The time frame is a pivotal one-and-a-half weeks in the lives of Harry, Snape, Buffy and Willow. Includes HP back story of the final defeat of Voldemort, and what happened to Snape after HBP.

**Category: **This fic is described as drama/action/adventure, but there's a bit of everything! Romance, comedy, and most definitely angst …

**Canon pairings: **Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Buffy/Spike, Willow/Kennedy, Xander/Anya.

**Spoilers: **For the Harry Potter books, to the end of HP and the Half-Blood Prince. For Buffy, anything from the entire seven seasons.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise from Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. Same goes for the Buffy series which belongs to Joss Whedon. For my writing, I have created a number of characters: Carl Elliot Bronson, Aeneas Waldgrave, Thayne Rank, Anatola Harwich, Kai Gavin Lidgate, Griffeth William Hayward, Emileigh Caitlin Bradbury, and Owen James Cromwell. More to follow later.

Phew! On to the fic!

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**Collision**

By Lady Jocacia

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**Prologue: The Man Who Defeated Voldemort **

It had been four years since Harry Potter finally defeated Voldemort. Four years since he had spoken the Avada Kedavra in that otherworldly place few walked in and even fewer came back from.

He had ended the Dark wizard who had committed unforgivable crimes. The wizard who had murdered, and ripped his own soul apart in his hunger for immortality. The wizard who had held two long reigns of terror. Gathering, commanding and forcing both Death Eaters and innocent people alike to do his bidding.

The wizard whose name people feared to whisper.

And the one who murdered Harry's parents, as they bravely protected their son.

For the sake of an incomplete prophecy, Voldemort had tried to kill one-year-old Harry. He destroyed both their lives, instead. What remained of Voldemort's soul clung greedily and fearfully to the living world, while Harry grew up in the abusive care of those who didn't love him. Harry was never free, and facing death was constant. In different forms and through many people, Voldemort tried murder again. Harry lived but other people he came to know and love did not: his godfather Sirius, and his Headmaster and friend in Dumbledore.

Experienced witches and wizards could not destroy the Darkest wizard in a century. At nearly eighteen, Harry was the only one. He had been marked: first by prophecy, then by his mother's love and sacrifice, and finally, unintentionally, by Voldemort himself as the one who would be his equal.

And of course, after what Harry had seen and done that fateful night, his life had changed.

He and his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were accepted into Auror training. They had not graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hadn't even studied their final year, but life experience allowed them in. For in wizarding opinion, who could be more suitable Aurors than Harry Potter and the friends who had fought with him in that final victorious battle?

In the wizarding world, Harry went from being known as the Boy Who Lived, to the Chosen One, to very quietly from those still filled with fear and quite loudly from those who weren't, as the Man Who Defeated Voldemort.

Blinded by joy and freedom, many never considered the effect Voldemort's death had on their highly regarded Harry Potter. Only those who knew him, bothered to care.

For Harry, the fight never ended with the death of Voldemort. There had been no precious conclusion.

In ending the maimed soul within the hideous body cowering before him, Harry had tainted his own soul. He had learnt the inescapable truth, felt the burden of what it was like to kill someone.

His fight turned inward and became with himself. The events in his life, the people he lost, the so-called night of triumph had all taken their toll, and the trauma and guilt rarely left him. The anger and pain remained. He was still unable to let himself grieve for Dumbledore, the greatest man he had ever known. Even worse, the faces of the dead he loved surfaced from the daytime depths of his mind and haunted him in sleep, entangled with memories of Voldemort.

He could not forget.

He could not store the memories away in a Pensieve either, for among the horror was painful beauty.

And only one person, Ginny, truly knew and understood the depth to which he had been affected.

It had been one year since Harry, Ron and Hermione had become Aurors, and their work often placed them in dangerous and unpredictable situations. Their latest assignment was no different.

But unknown to twenty-one-year-old Harry, the presence of people both new and old, friend and foe, would become the catalyst to tear what remained of his life apart and finally push him to the brink.

An unexpected influence would force him to confront his own personal demons and the man he hated even more than Voldemort.

And the coming together of several people clearly in pain would help not only Harry and the new arrivals, but also the man Harry hated most as well …

Severus Snape.

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**A/N:** Sooo ... what do you reckon? Review please! 


	2. Into the Graveyard

**Monday, 2 June 2002**

**9.08 P.M.**

**Into the Graveyard **

If anyone had been watching a particular corner of the Sunnydale Cemetery, this silent moonlit night, he or she might have noticed something very unusual. Something normally unexpected in a high death rate town, one in which vampires clawed out of graves, demons and werewolves appeared, nerds quested for world domination, and Wiccan magic was used.

Above that lonely corner, three young Aurors suddenly appeared in a whirl of wind and bodies, all hanging onto the one sock. They plummeted and hit the ground, staggering. All three recovered and stepped into the quiet shadows of gnarled old oak trees, their black clothes blending into the darkness.

Glancing around the graveyard, they found only silence. Not even the usual crickets dared to make a sound.

"Listen to that," whispered Ron. "Brings new meaning to the words 'dead quiet', don't you think?"

Harry shifted uneasily. "Yeah, too quiet." He moved several paces forward but kept away from direct moonlight. "Doesn't look like the Slayer's here yet."

"She might have been and gone already," whispered Hermione.

"I doubt it," Ron said, dismissing her concerns. "It's only just after nine."

Air burst out of Hermione's nostrils. "We'd better not have missed her. If there's no Slayer in action, there's no assessment of her performance. We should have got here earlier."

"Earlier!" Ron said in horror. "It was five in the morning when we left London!" He glanced at their black-haired friend standing a few yards away, shrouded in shadow, gazing out over the graveyard. "Besides," he added in a much lower voice. "I don't think Harry would make it on less sleep. He looks ready to drop as it is."

Harry clenched his jaw. He'd heard what Ron had said, and then felt their eyes upon him, their looks of concern and pity. He wasn't _that_ fragile. He hated their worries, their comments about his quality of sleep, his lack of it, his dreams. How he easily got tired. How he should take some dreamless sleep potions. They probably secretly discussed his ability to keep up with them on missions, even though he had never failed one yet.

Harry realised he was still holding their used Portkey – the old grey sock – and stuffed it angrily into one of his pockets before turning around. "I'm not going to collapse on you," he hissed furiously.

Ron held up his hands in self-defence. "Harry, mate, I never said you actually _would_. All I meant was you look really tired."

"Well, I'm not the only one," Harry whispered harshly.

"No, of course you're not," Hermione agreed, trying to soothe him. She was rewarded with a glare.

Ron sighed in defeat and changed the subject. "How about we check out some inscriptions while we wait? Give us something to do."

That topic was no better than the last one. "I don't think so," Harry said coldly.

Shrugging, Ron looked at the nearest ill-kept gravestones. "Blimey," he said in surprise. "People don't live long around here."

Harry turned away in disgust and tried listening for the presence of others.

"Have a look at this, Hermione," Ron said quietly behind him. "This person was only eighteen. She's the oldest of the lot."

There was a faint sound as Hermione's feet moved, and then she agreed. She murmured names and ages.

Harry closed his eyes, removing the gravestones ahead from his sight. He had no liking for cemeteries. The last time he was in one was almost five years ago, when he was sixteen. He had visited his parents. The second last time, he was fourteen. He had been captured, tied to the grave of the father of his greatest enemy and slashed with a knife. Blood had been taken, Voldemort resurrected, and an unfinished duel had been fought, one terrifying and shocking to both of them.

Harry shuddered slightly. Cemeteries were a reminder of what had been endured and lost, places to stay away from. However, there was a mission to complete, and it required him to be standing, waiting in a cemetery a third of the way around the world, when he could have been asleep for at least another hour in a soft bed with Ginny curled up beside him. Merlin knew that he needed the sleep. _And so did Ron and Hermione_, he thought resentfully.

It was then that he heard it: faint sounds of fighting on the other side of the over-large graveyard. Harry opened his eyes and listened again, just to make sure, then wiped slightly damp palms on the sides of his trousers.

"She's here."

Ron and Hermione fell silent, and came to stand beside him, listening as well. All three took out their wands.

"Come on," Harry muttered, gripping his more tightly than usual. "Let's find her and get out of here."

Without waiting for a reply, he hunched over and moved forward, half-running, dodging around headstones, heading for the far side. Ron and Hermione were right on his heels. As he drew closer, he made out some very familiar words. Ones which he would not have expected to hear so far from home.

"_Stupefy_!"

"_Impedimenta_!"

"This is wrong," Harry breathed worriedly, upping his speed. There should have been no other witches and wizards there. Not of their kind, and certainly not British.

The shouted spells became louder.

"_Incarcerous_! INCARCEROUS!"

Harry skidded to a halt. He cautiously peered around a tall headstone, the top of which had been blasted off. Between the graves ahead, a blonde-haired woman was unarmed and fighting three Muggle-dressed wizards.

"Who are you supposed to be?" she taunted. "The wizards of Oz?"

A wizard with a crooked nose let out a bellow. "STUPEFY!"

Red light flashed in a jet from the end of his wand; the woman dodged out of the way. Harry, Ron and Hermione watched in astonishment as she rushed forward and delivered a kick to the man's stomach, sending him flying. He and his wand hit the ground, a few feet apart. The man folded over and clutched at his belly, winded.

"What're English wizards doing here?" Ron said worriedly, above Harry's head.

"I don't know," Hermione whispered. "It can't be coincidence. Do you think she needs our help?"

"No. This woman's amazing," Ron said oddly, making Harry look up at him.

To Harry's surprise, Ron wore a rare expression of complete admiration. Hermione saw it too and frowned. Another spell was shouted and Harry ignored them both, turning back to the fight in front of them.

Light flashed from behind the woman. On instinct, she threw herself down and rolled. The spell missed her head by inches; chunks flew from the headstone in front of her. Back on her feet, she whirled to face her second attacker.

"You call that a twig or a wand?" she shouted, darting towards him.

Red light flashed again; she ducked under the oncoming spell. Her leg lashed out at the offending wand, snapping the wooden stick in half. The man stared in horror and disbelief at the piece of wand still in his hand and started running.

Wasting no more time on him, the blonde started looking for the third wizard.

"That's got to be her," Hermione breathed. "Buffy Summers." Despite Ron's interest, she sounded appreciative.

"She's fast," Harry said, watching her move. "She's got attitude."

"And she can hold her own," said Ron, pointing his wand at the sandy-haired wizard trying to escape. "_Petrificus Totalus_," he muttered.

The man's entire body became rigid and he toppled onto the mound of a recently covered grave.

"Had enough?" Buffy asked perkily.

Harry looked back to find the third wizard helping his winded companion to his feet, handing him his wand. Moonlight reflected off their incensed faces.

"Yes, we have," breathed the winded man, while the other gave a twisted, shadowy grin. Both men raised their wands.

"_Avada Ke_–"

"STUPEFY!" Harry bellowed in panic before the men could finish the Unforgivable Curse. Ron and Hermione did the same. Three jets of red light shot forth, combining together in a fiery-coloured flash. The eyes of both men glazed over, and they flew several feet backwards, away from the woman and struck the ground hard.

Buffy spun round incredibly fast, moving back into a fighting stance, as Harry, Ron and Hermione stepped out from behind the headstone and walked towards her.

"Who are you?" she demanded. This close, she looked about twenty-three years old.

They quickly lowered their wands.

"It's all right, we're on your side," said Hermione. She pointed at the two unconscious men, and added, "We just Stunned those Dark wizards."

Buffy kept her arms raised, ready to defend herself. "You didn't answer my question. Again, who are you?"

"Hermione Granger." Gesturing in turn, she added, "Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. I'm a witch and they're wizards. We're Dark wizard catchers – Aurors – from the Ministry of Magic in London."

"You have _got_ to be joking," said Buffy.

"No, we're not," said Harry.

Buffy looked at their lowered wands, relaxed and began to laugh. "Gee, you're all like something out of a regular children's book."

The three of them glared, not happy with the comparison.

"Oh," said Buffy, falling quiet. "Sorry. I shouldn't laugh considering all I've seen, but this takes the cake. Really. A giant cake, with sprinkles," she added.

"Er …" said Ron, uncertain how to take her.

"Buffy Summers," she said finally. "I was just walking home when these guys attacked me."

"They did?" Harry asked.

"What, you don't believe me?" she asked dryly. "I don't normally go around hitting people."

"Oh, we believe you," said Hermione, "and you usually go after vampires and demons."

"You've heard of me?"

"Of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Yes," Hermione said, smiling at her surprise.

"You're really good," Ron said enthusiastically, the look of admiration back on his face. "All that kicking and punching? What I would give to do that."

The Slayer's wary expression was back. She crossed her arms. "What are you, peeping wizards? And witch? How'd you come to be here, anyway?"

Harry felt his face grow hot. Ron, too, had turned bright red. Hermione's smile vanished and was replaced by a frown.

"No!" Ron said loudly. "Well … we – er – we … watched for a bit, but only to see how good you are …"

"Oh, so you just sat back and enjoyed the show?"

"Yes – no – I mean …" Ron stammered.

"Did you know those wizard guys would be here?" Buffy demanded. "Did you send them? I don't like being tested," she warned.

"No, we didn't!" Ron nearly shouted, anxious to clear their names. "But we Stunned them before things got out of control." The flush in his face spread down his neck. He didn't mention the Dark wizards had nearly fired off the Killing Curse. "We need your help, see –"

"You do," she said, her stare making Ron squirm. "That's your way of asking for help, is it?"

"Er …" said Ron, now looking rather shame-faced.

"By making me fight your Dark wizards first? What happened to world famous British etiquette and all that?"

Ron helplessly threw his hands up in the air. "Someone help me out," he pleaded.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Hermione said diplomatically. "We have a problem back in England only you can deal with, and we're authorised to offer you something in return."

Buffy looked unenthusiastic. "What kind of problem?"

"A huge one," Harry said unhelpfully, wanting to get out of there.

"Vampires? Demons? Werewolves?"

"We'd rather not talk about it in a cemetery," said Hermione. She glanced fleetingly at Harry who kept his expression closed.

"There won't be any vamps popping out of the ground if that's what you're worried about," Buffy told them. "No fresh graves today."

"Still … can we go somewhere else?" Hermione asked.

The Slayer studied them all for several moments. "All right. We can go back to my house – you can tell the Scoobies at the same time."

"The what?" Harry asked, completely baffled.

"The Scoobies," she repeated, tilting her head and giving him a searching look. Not finding what she was looking for, she said, "It's what we call ourselves."

"Oh."

"What are you going to do with your Dark wizards?" she asked. "They're still alive, right?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "We'll take them with us. _Accio Dark wizards' wands_."

The wands including the broken one, zoomed through the air towards him, and he caught them all neatly. The action reminded him of days spent playing Quidditch. A longing for simpler and happier times suddenly consumed him, times he could no longer have. He shoved the wands angrily up his left sleeve.

Harry walked over to one of the Stunned wizards and jabbed his own wand into the air. Soon all three wizards were bound and hanging upright, like bizarre string puppets, their heads lolling, feet just above the ground.

"Oh look, just like zombies, only not," Buffy said. She walked around inspecting them. "You do know how wiggy that looks, right?"

"Yes," Harry said sharply. The unnatural sight had made him remember something else.

Inferi.

The reanimated bodies of Voldemort's victims.

On the night of Professor Dumbledore's death, Harry had seen them. He had accidentally touched the lake in that dark cave by the sea, been gripped by an icy hand. He had stared into one of the many faces of death. Then countless bluish-white bodies had swarmed out of the water, coming to claim him …

A chill went through him and he shuddered, making Ron and Hermione eye him carefully again. Harry turned away.

"Sorry," he said quietly to Buffy. "I didn't mean to snap."

"No problem," she said smoothly. "Uh, didn't you say you Stunned those guys?"

"Two of them, yes," said Hermione, shifting her penetrating gaze away from Harry.

The Slayer prodded at the sandy-haired wizard who had tried escaping. "This one's eyes are still moving."

"Don't worry about _him_," said Ron. "He's under the Full-Body Bind Curse. All he can do is roll his eyeballs."

Unable to glare at Ron, the Dark wizard had to make do with the ground.

Hermione went over to each of their captives and murmured, "_Externus nonevidens_."

"What was that?" Buffy asked curiously.

"An invisibility spell, of sorts," said Hermione.

"I can still see them," the Slayer said, amused.

"You should," Hermione told her. "You were here when I cast it. The point is, no one else will be able to see them, not as long as these men remain outdoors."

"Oh, good," said Buffy. "Wouldn't want to scare anyone."

Harry looked strangely at her for a few moments, unable to decide if she was being sarcastic. He shrugged a shoulder. Maybe it was just her sense of humour that was off. "Which way?" he asked.

"Follow me," she sighed, leading them out of the cemetery.

Ron and Hermione carefully tucked their wands up their sleeves; Harry kept his trained on the three Dark wizards who floated eerily alongside them.

"So can you at least tell me what part of England you're all from?" the Slayer wanted to know.

"Ron and I are from Dover," said Hermione.

"Aberdeen, Scotland," Harry said glumly, his mind mostly filled with thoughts of Inferi.

"You don't sound Scottish," Buffy commented. "How long have you been living there?"

"Four years."

Harry noticed Hermione glance worriedly towards him again. She and Ron had done that far too many times over the years. He kept his eyes focused on the ground: they had left the grass of the cemetery and were now walking along a street.

"How about you, Buffy?" asked Hermione. "Have you always lived here?"

"On the Hellmouth?" the Slayer said, incredulous. "No. I moved here nearly seven years ago. I lived in LA before that. Way cooler."

"How'd you come across these Dark wizards?" Ron asked, changing the subject.

"I was doing my usual nightly patrol – walking the streets, checking out the graveyard. I saw these guys with a vamp. I dusted him and then your Dark wizards started pointing twigs at me. Next thing I know, the headstone of one Carl Elliott Bronson is reaching for the sky."

"Vampires and English Dark wizards meeting up on purpose?" Harry said, finally shaken out of his reverie. "Here of all places, at the same time we are? That's not good."

"No, it's worse," said Ron. "Hermione, got any Veritaserum on you?"

"Yes," she said, face determined. "We'll find out soon enough."

Confused, Buffy looked from one to the other. "Hope you stop with all the secret spy business by the time we get to my house," she said irritably.

"We're not spies," said Hermione. "We're –"

"Dark wizard catchers, I know," said the Slayer.

Headlights appeared from up ahead. Harry lowered his wand out of sight and the Dark wizards stopped moving forwards. Buffy, who could still see them, watched the approaching SUV, probably half-expecting the driver to send it careening wildly off the road.

The vehicle went past peacefully.

Buffy raised her eyebrows but said nothing. They began walking again and turned into another street.

"By the way," Hermione said suddenly. "There was only the one Wizard of Oz."

"Huh?" said Buffy.

"Who's that?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Do we know him?"

Harry murmured for him to be quiet, adding, "I'll explain later."

Hermione continued as though she had never been interrupted. "The Wizard of Oz. There was just one, not heaps of them."

"Oh," said Buffy. "I never watched the whole movie. All those flying monkeys? Gives me the wiggins."

"Flying monkeys?" muttered Ron. "That would freak anyone out. I don't know how Muggles can watch horror movies."

"Mug-what?" asked the Slayer, looking more perplexed by the minute.

Hermione sighed. "Non-magic people," she said, and added, "It's a children's movie, Ron."

"Oh. But it's still scary, right?"

"Yes, Ron. I suppose some of it is," she replied. The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried not to grin. It seemed ridiculous that Ron should be worried about fictitious flying monkeys when they had seen and fought much worse. She gave Harry a bemused glance, one that he failed to share.

Buffy veered off the pavement and onto a manicured lawn, heading towards a white weatherboard house with a concrete porch. One of the supporting white columns displayed the street number – one thousand, six hundred and thirty.

"We're here," she said finally, and opened the door.

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**A/N:** Please review, it's always helpful. 


	3. A Very Scooby Welcome

**A/N:** Thank you Beth-Elaine for reviewing. I'm very encouraged! Here's the next chapter. Sorry for the wait, it was an incredibly tough one to write.

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**Monday, 2 June 2002**

**9.45 P.M.**

**A Very Scooby Welcome **

Buffy led the way into her house first, and Harry guided the Dark wizards in after her, one at a time. He heard a male voice say, "Hey Buff," then, "_Whoa_!" A couple of dull thuds later, and the voice squawked, "Buff, I know you're a busy lady but floating corpses? Couldn't you have dusted the vamps in the graveyard? And when did you start doing magic?"

"They're not vamps," Harry said, as he walked in. He surveyed the immediate area, noting a hallway and stairs straight ahead, and a lounge room to the left containing a dark-haired man around Buffy's age. The man stood in front of a chair, his mug and book on the carpet, a big coffee stain at his feet. "They're Dark wizards," Harry said, adding to the shock.

"They're what?" the man asked. "And who are you?" He glanced between Harry, Ron and Hermione, and the Dark wizards now floating in a corner of the lounge. Then his jaw really dropped. "Wait, is that a _wand_ you're holding?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry said, completely serious.

The traces of a smile appeared on Buffy's face, and she quickly turned away to lock the door. By the time she faced them again, it had vanished. She made the introductions.

"Can't you do magic like normal people?" her friend Xander Harris asked, regarding them with wide eyes.

"_Normal_?" Ron spluttered in disbelief. "What are you on about? This _is_ normal."

"You're doing magic with a stick. Just how is that normal?" said Xander.

"It just is," Ron said hotly. "At least for us. Do you always ask this many questions?" he added, rather nettled.

"Only when faced with the weird and the just plain scary," replied Xander.

Ron grumbled under his breath. When the Slayer offered a seat, he took the sofa with Harry and Hermione, still muttering. Xander and Buffy remained standing.

"What about the ones tied up?" Xander worried. "Do you have to leave them hanging like freak-show puppets of the night?"

His voice brought light footsteps down the stairs. "Xander, is Buffy back yet?" a girl called out. "I heard voices. I want to borrow – oh!" The girl – a teenager – had walked into the room and stopped dead.

"Hey Dawn," Buffy said. "We have visitors."

"I can see that," the girl replied dryly, looking them over. "I'm guessing you're not the drop-in-for-a-casual-chat kind of visitors."

"No," said Harry.

Introductions went round again.

Dawn, the Slayer's sister, went towards the Dark wizards for a closer look. "They are so weirding me out." She backed away with a shudder but stared at them in strange fascination. She watched curiously as Harry used magic to lay the captives in the corner.

Xander relaxed enough to drop back into his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. "Much better," he murmured.

"Where is everyone?" Buffy asked, looking around.

It was Dawn who replied, listing an extraordinarily large number of people. "Willow and Kennedy have gone upstairs to their room, Giles is asleep, Anya's having a shower, Spike's in the basement … Faith is still out on patrol, I _think_, I haven't heard her come in yet …" She glanced at Xander, eyebrows raised.

"Zilch on Faith," he confirmed.

"… Andrew's in the kitchen washing dishes," Dawn said, continuing her list, "and the rest of the Potentials are in the dining room eating all our ice-cream." She looked disgusted. "They took all the chocolate-chip before I could have some."

"Can you go and get them please, Dawn?" Buffy asked.

"Who? All of them?"

Buffy nodded. "Well, everyone except Faith. She can be filled in when she decides to turn up."

"Who's Faith?" Harry asked, as soon as the girl had left the room.

"The other Slayer," Buffy said carefully, finally sitting down.

Harry shared a startled look with Ron and Hermione. "We thought you were the only one."

"I was," said Buffy. "A long time ago."

Silence fell in the room as everyone waited. Both sides, strangers, faced each other in a quiet that grew more uncomfortable by the second. Harry shifted his weight and started drumming his fingers on his knee. On the other side, Xander reached out to the coffee table, looking for his drink. He stopped halfway, realising he had spilled it.

"Oh, Buff, I'm sorry," he said, picking up the fallen mug.

Buffy shrugged. "Xander, don't worry about it. We've had worse damage in here before."

Partly made uneasy by the silence, partly eager to help, Hermione jumped to her feet. "Oh, let me," she said, pulling out her wand and touching it to the dirty carpet. "_Tergeo_." Xander and Buffy watched in amazement as the coffee stain shrunk and disappeared.

"Check you out," Buffy said, grinning with surprise and pleasure. "Thanks."

"That's okay."

"That wand is really useful," Xander said eagerly. His negative view on them had disappeared. "Where can I get one of those things?"

"Sorry," Hermione said kindly. "Only witches and wizards can work them."

The man's face fell in disappointment. "Oh. Would have been nice to have around." He turned his attention to the fallen book and placed it on the coffee table, next to the mug. The heavy volume was old and bound in cracked leather, the words on the cover engraved. Harry's nervous fingers stilled as he read the title upside-down: _Ubervamps – The First of the Vampyres_.

_Definitely not a bit of light reading_, he thought, then snatched his attention away as footsteps sounded close to the lounge.

Dawn returned, announcing. "Anya will be down soon, and everyone else is coming." She then perched on the arm of Buffy's chair, looking hopeful. "Buffy, can I borrow your blue spaghetti strap top?"

Her sister's expression was one of disbelief. "I only just got it."

"And?"

"And what?" Buffy said, shrugging. "I haven't even worn it yet!"

"I could try it out for you," the girl offered cheekily.

"Dawn," Buffy warned.

"Okay, okay," she grumbled, holding up her hands. "I was only asking. No need to have a pterodactyl."

"What's this about pterodactyls?" said a sleepy English voice. "We don't have to deal with those as well, do we?" The speaker was a man in his forties, wrapped in a dressing gown, and tiredly rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

Buffy scowled. "No. Just wizards and witches."

The older man woke up a little more and noticed the newcomers. "Oh, hello," he said. "Rupert Giles." He smiled when he heard their accents, offered a hand to each of them to shake, and sank gratefully into one of the two remaining chairs.

The next person to arrive was also English, looked about thirty, and answered to the name of Spike. Black clothes emphasised his gaunt figure and white-blond hair. He crossed his arms and leaned with deliberate casualness against the opening of the lounge, as if marking his territory.

Everyone else was either the same age as Buffy or younger down to the age of around sixteen. Andrew, a mild-looking nerd in an apron was third in, trailed by more than ten Potential Slayers, all of whom sat on the floor and eyed the captive wizards with interest.

Willow Rosenberg, a pretty redhead, and the taller, dark-haired Kennedy, came into the room next, squeezing together into the last remaining seat. Willow idly took Kennedy's nearest hand and linked their fingers together.

Harry blinked in shock – from the way Dawn had sounded, he had expected Kennedy to be a bloke. Ron sitting next to him, apparently had the same idea. His eyes bulged and he made a funny noise that was quickly turned into a cough.

"Sorry," Ron said, as the two women looked daggers at him. "Tickle in my throat." He was spared any reply by the timely appearance of Anya Jenkins, a short woman with golden-brown hair, skin still pink from a hot shower.

"Dawn said we have Dark wizards here," Anya announced, gazing around the room.

"Huh?" Andrew said nervously. "Dawn, you didn't say anything to me about Dark wizards."

The teenager rolled her eyes and didn't answer.

Anya spotted the three men lying bound on the floor and went over to peer at them. Her eyes widened when she saw the sandy-haired wizard under the influence of the Full-Body Bind Curse.

"Aeneas?" she said. "What are you doing here? You look older."

The wizard rolled his eyes at her; Harry couldn't tell if that meant irritation, recognition, panic, or a combination of all three.

Xander gazed at Anya in disbelief. "You _know_ him?"

"No, I know who he is," she corrected, joining the group. She sat cross-legged on the carpet and said nothing more, oblivious to everyone's expectation.

Several seconds passed before Xander gave her an impatient prompting. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?" she asked, face blank.

"Do you want to tell us how you know him?"

"Through work. His sister made a wish. She wanted her cheating boyfriend to be a worm for eternity."

"And you granted it," said Buffy wearily. "Just like you always did."

"Of course," said Anya. "But the girl had clearly no imagination and worms are _very_ boring. So I changed his body and let him keep his mind." She smiled, remembering the past, and for a moment, an eerie kind of joy shone within her eyes. "Aeneas liked it. He put the worm in a jar and kept him on the mantelpiece. Opened the jar every now and then, and poked at him with a sharp stick."

A few of the younger girls made cries of disgust. Some looked at Anya with distaste, Harry with sudden wariness. This was someone with dangerous power.

Ron's right hand inched closer to the sleeve where he kept his own wand hidden. "Er …" he said tentatively. "What kind of witch are you?" He gulped when Anya's head snapped round.

"I was never a witch," she said, highly insulted. "I had more power than that." She stuck her nose haughtily into the air.

"Anya's an ex-vengeance demon, don't mind her," Xander said.

"A demon?" Hermione whispered fearfully.

"_Ex_," Xander repeated. He looked at Anya. "You're all human and harmless these days, aren't you, sweetie?"

Anya seemed miserable over what she had lost. She slumped forward and pouted, blowing air from the corner of her mouth.

"Your friend and his stooges tried to blow me up in the graveyard," Buffy accused.

The ex-vengeance demon shrugged her shoulders. "You're still all right, and I never said we were friends."

Andrew shifted uncomfortably and fidgeted with a corner of his flowery apron. "I don't want to be near any Dark wizards. They might hurt me."

"Grow up, Andrew," Anya said, annoyed.

"They're not going anywhere," Harry added. "Their bindings can't be removed without magic and I have their wands." He held them up briefly. "As for the two men unconscious, it'll be a long time before they wake up on their own."

"But what if more come in here to get them?" the nerd almost whined.

Willow made a sound of annoyance. "Andrew, after all that's happened over the years, do you really think we can't take them?"

"Well …" he said slowly.

"Shut up, Andrew," Buffy said scornfully.

The front door opened, and a woman in her mid-twenties, with wavy, dark brown hair, entered the house. She was dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting long-sleeved green top, which emphasised her lean, strong shoulders and arms.

Any enthusiasm Buffy might of had just disappeared. "Faith," she commented, rather flatly. "Join in. We can get started."

"We having a party?" the second Slayer asked, seeing everyone in the lounge. "Because I have to say it really sucks."

"No. We have people from England," Anya said.

"And Dark wizards," Xander added.

Faith caught sight of Harry, Ron and Hermione in their trousers and skivvies, the clothes they wore while on missions. "Who are you supposed to be? The British version of Men in Black?"

Harry and Ron bristled, and Hermione's lips pinched together in instant dislike.

The second Slayer exuded arrogant confidence. She dragged the coffee table away from the centre of the room, shoved Xander's book and coffee mug to the side and sat down, leaning forward with her elbows on knees. Her gaze rested longer on Harry than on either of his friends. If his hair hadn't been covering the scar on his forehead, her gaze would have raked that too.

"Leave them be, Faith," Buffy said, and made introductions for the last time. "Okay, you three. You said you needed my help and anything I do concerns the people here, so let's get on with it. It's just gone ten and I'd like to get some sleep."

"As would the rest of us," Giles yawned from behind a hand. "But have we time to make some tea? I won't be able to stay awake, otherwise."

"Yeah, good idea," Ron said. He used his wand to conjure up tea for them all. Everyone was astounded and the Potentials very excited, but Spike eyed the beverage with mistrust.

"I suppose that's not poison?" he accused.

"They're not here to kill us, Spike," Buffy said wearily.

"Says you," scoffed Spike. "Where's the proof?"

"Fine," Ron grumbled. "I'll have some of mine first."

Ron brought the cup to his mouth and the room fell completely silent. Harry glanced around in surprise. Every one of the Sunnydale people was watching his friend take a drink and waiting for him to keel over.

"See?" Ron said after a moment. "Nothing. It's just tea."

Giles savoured the aroma of his own steaming beverage and blew on it before taking a careful sip. "This really is quite nice," he said in surprise. "Black tea with a hint of orange?"

"Yeah," Ron grinned, proud of his tea-making skills. He glanced around, checking that everyone was trying his beverage. When he got to Buffy, his grin died. She was glaring at him pointedly, irritation scrawled across her face.

"Can we start now?" she asked.

"OK," Ron said quietly, suddenly humbled.

Xander wrapped his own hands around a steaming cup. "So tell us," he began conversationally. "What brings you three to good old Sunnydale, home of the Hellmouth?"

"Well … er …" Ron said, made uncertain by the man's humour. "We have this demon back in England that we need getting rid of. He's an ugly-looking bloke …"

"That narrows it down to all of them, R. You'll have to be more specific," Faith said.

Ron was thrown by the odd nickname.

"It's not a demon lord of the dance, is it?" Xander cut in worriedly.

Harry had a sudden mental image of their demon kicking up his feet to a wild Irish tune. He grimaced and shook his head to clear the terrible vision away.

Hermione scrutinised Xander to see if he was making fun of them, and realised he was serious. "Based on his actions, I'd have to say no."

"Good. 'Cause that's scary stuff," said Xander. "There's singing and dancing and much of the spilling of secrets."

"Not to mention people spontaneously combusting and turning into piles of ash," added Buffy.

"Ooh," said Willow, "and the person who summons him gets taken back as his queen of the underworld."

"Xander nearly became queen of the underworld," Anya said helpfully.

Ron sprayed an entire mouthful of his prized tea all over his lap and started choking. Hermione rescued his cup which was threatening to spill, while Harry reached behind and thumped him on the back.

"Charming," Spike muttered, eyeing the three of them.

Faith, meanwhile, was smirking. "Never picked you for the queen type, Xander."

Several young Potential Slayers giggled.

"I'm not! Anya! Don't say stuff like that," Xander barked.

"It's true," Anya said, looking at Harry, Hermione and a beet-red Ron who was alternating wheezing in air and coughing like mad. "But the demon didn't like guys."

"Neither do I!" said Xander in a higher voice than before. He struggled to bring it down in an effort to sound manly again. "Well, I … uh … like guys, just not in a ... wild kind of way … um … okay," he said loudly, and brought his hands together with a resounding clap that made the giggling Potentials jump. "I'm sorry I spoke, and we're moving right along. What else have you got for us?"

Ron coughed weakly and said, "It's bad. We found out about him seven days ago. He killed a number of Muggles at a late night shopping mall in Manchester." Reaching out, Ron took his tea back from Hermione and took another sip to clear his throat.

"Muggles?" interrupted Giles.

"Non-magic people," Hermione said in a hushed voice.

"A witch who witnessed it escaped and informed our Ministry of Magic," Ron continued, more strongly. "She said a magical creature had attacked with bolts of energy, burned people into nothing, and then vanished with the help of a couple of Dark wizards. The three of us went there … we saw what happened on those Muggle video cameras." His voice became softer; the look on his face was one of quiet and terrible awe. "It was horrible, what he did … Our Ministry sent out a drawing and warning to every wizarding household to be on the lookout and to get away."

"Four days ago," Harry said, taking over, "there was another mass attack, this time a convention in London. We got there with more Aurors but the usual spells and our combined power didn't work. The spells just bounced right off him."

He shook his head in defeat. "We even brought in some people from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They said he didn't come under their job description. That he didn't even belong to the wizarding world, and that the creature was actually a demon. No one wanted to stay on this mission."

"And they dumped it all on you," said Dawn.

Ron grimaced. "That about covers it."

Hermione said anxiously, "Ron, Harry and I went on to research potions and obscure spells. When he reappeared in Birmingham two days ago, _they_ didn't work either. _Nothing_ we do works," she told them, thumping a fist on her knee. "He's just too magically powerful."

"He's gaining strength," said Buffy. "The times he reappears are getting closer together."

"Yes, we're aware of that," Hermione said.

Buffy frowned at her.

Hermione blushed, realising her worry had made her sound rude. "Sorry," she muttered.

"This demon's killing more and more people with every appearance," said Harry. "It's a disaster. More than a hundred people have died so far."

"What has the public been told about these deaths?" Giles asked.

"That they've been the result of gas leaks," Ron said.

"You're kidding," Xander exclaimed, and received a shake of the head from Ron. "Okay, you're not kidding. But other people would have seen what happened. How could you possibly cover it up?"

"Obliviators," said Hermione. "Employed by our Ministry. They track down all surviving Muggle witnesses, modify their memories, and then the memories of all the Muggles they've ever told."

"So that's why we haven't seen or heard anything strange in the international news," breathed Willow.

"Yeah," said Ron. "But the general public are getting suspicious and starting to panic. They've started spreading rumours of biological terrorism. The Muggle Prime Minister is making excuses but he won't be able to keep it up for much longer."

"The English PM knows about your wizarding world?" asked Buffy.

"Of course," said Hermione, puzzled. "Doesn't your president know about you?"

Buffy stifled a snort. "Not even our mayor knows who we are."

"Forget about _them_," Ron said impatiently. "What about this demon we're stuck with? We're worried he's going to start going for the really big things. Muggle sporting events – those football matches tens of thousands of Muggles go to watch. There'd be chaos everywhere."

Harry worriedly ran his hand through his hair. "We don't know want he wants, how to get rid of him, or where he and the Dark wizards in league with him are going to go next. That's why we're here, Buffy. We badly need your help."

"We have a drawing of him," said Hermione. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment, walked over to Buffy and gave it to her. The Slayer unfolded it and stared. Her eyes widened slightly.

"What is it?" Giles asked worriedly.

Dawn, still perched on the arm of Buffy's chair, peered down at it and said, "He doesn't look so scary."

"Buffy?" asked Willow softly. "What's he look like? We can start researching right away on the Net."

"No need," she said, still staring at the image. "I know who he is."

"You do?" Harry asked, both surprised and relieved.

"It's the Judge."

Harry stared at her blankly, and he wasn't the only one. By their faces, only Giles, Xander, Willow and Spike knew who she was on about.

"The _Smurf_?" Xander said insultingly. "No way. You defeated him already."

"See for yourself."

Buffy held up the picture for everyone. It showed a blue-skinned creature with a wrinkled face and three sets of horns on its head – a stubby pair at the front, and two pairs of short, curving horns at the back. The demon's clothes, including a jacket with an upturned collar, were all made from dark materials.

"But the Watchers' Council took his pieces back to England for safekeeping …" Willow said, looking uncertain.

"Guess someone let him out," said Buffy.

"Well, that's just great," Spike exploded, shoving himself off the doorway and standing up straight. "Some nutter got hold of the pieces and popped him back together like a giant sodding 3D jigsaw!"

Giles was disgusted. "The first time round, that nutter would be you, Spike."

Harry was alarmed. Jigsaws? Nutters? Who were these people? He glanced at Ron and Hermione. They looked just as shocked and confused as he was.

"It was a present for Dru!" Spike was protesting. "Something to cheer her up."

"Only vampires would call rebuilding a demon and setting it loose fun," scoffed Giles. "Where did you get all the pieces from, anyway?"

The white-blonde vampire gave him a condescending look. "They were brought here from around the world. Had to have the shamans protecting them killed, didn't I?"

"You truly are a monster," Giles said, turning away.

"But that was before Spike got back his soul," Buffy pointed out.

"Lucky for you you're not around the Judge these days, Spike," Xander commented. "You wouldn't be the walking dead anymore, you'd be pile-of-ashes dead."

Spike scowled, jaw working in his gaunt face.

"Guys, we're all on the same side here," said Buffy.

"You think?" retorted Faith. "Spike's hair may be white and pure, but the rest of him isn't."

The vampire took an angry step towards the second Slayer.

"That's enough, all of you," said Buffy. "We don't need the insults and aggression flying around."

Even though she was talking to everyone, Harry got the distinct impression that she was defending the vampire, who confusingly, impossibly, had a soul.

The Slayer turned to the older man in the room. "Giles. Think you could make a phone call? Find out what happened?"

"What? Oh," said Giles. He glanced at his watch, drained the last of his tea and stood up. "It's rather early over there but someone will be awake." He looked for somewhere to put his teacup, and asked Ron, "What do I do with this?"

"Eh?" said Ron, who was busy staring at Spike.

"What are you looking at?" the vampire said aggressively. He had been the only one to refuse Ron's tea. Ironically, he was the only one who couldn't die of poison.

"Nothing," Ron said. He turned to find Giles holding the empty cup. "Oh, just put it anywhere."

Giles placed it on his armchair. The moment he let it go, it vanished, causing a bit of a stir with the Potentials. The older man merely raised an eyebrow.

"Everything that's conjured vanishes," explained Ron. "Except food and drink, once you've eaten and drunk it, that is."

As soon as Giles left the room, Buffy started talking about the Judge again. "Some of us came across him five years ago," she said. "He's a demon obsessed with purity. Good, bad, human, non-human, alive, dead, it doesn't matter with him. If you're not completely evil, he'll zap you with a bolt of power to burn away your impurities. You've seen for yourself on the security cameras, once he's finished, there's nothing left. You're lucky he hasn't done you three, yet."

"Oh, he's tried," Ron said darkly, sharing a glance with Hermione, and unconsciously rubbing his chest. "Got me with that bloody lightning bolt thingy of his. I Apparated just in time and I don't fancy getting hit with it again."

"Apparated?" Anya asked.

"Reappeared somewhere else," said Ron.

Xander looked almost envious. "I've never been interested in trying magic before today, but that sounds great."

"Mm," said Harry. "So how does one defeat the Judge?"

"You blow him up," said Buffy.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, startled.

The Slayer looked at him as though he was a bit thick. "How else do you think he ends up in pieces? You blast him apart. Now you know."

"But we _tried_," Hermione insisted, slightly upset. "We used a Reductor Curse and a Blasting Curse …"

The Slayer shook her head. "You might want to try a bazooka next time."

"A _what_?" Ron asked, utterly confused.

"A Muggle weapon," Hermione hissed loudly in his ear.

"Oh."

"Hang on," Harry said, realising what she had been suggesting. "We were sent here to bring you back to England. _You're_ the one who's meant to fight him. You're the one with the experience."

"What makes you think Buffy is going to drop everything and help you?" Spike demanded. "We have even bigger problems than you can imagine."

Harry was unconvinced. "Such as?"

"How about the end of the world?" Faith said loudly.

"_The what_?" Harry shouted, rocketing to his feet. "Are you serious? When?"

"Dunno," said Buffy. "Next month. Next week, maybe."

Hermione gasped and Ron moaned in horror.

Harry started pacing. His day had started off bad, bypassed worse and gone straight to horrific.

Xander calmly sipped from his teacup and watched him. "Happens a lot, the end of the world," he said. "We've saved it six times so far."

"Oh, that makes me feel loads better," Harry growled. Xander's calm composure was driving him mad. He wanted to knock the man's teacup from his hands and send it flying. He turned, instead, to see Hermione sitting very pale and still, and Ron looking rather green.

"The fate of the world is in plenty of good hands," Xander assured them.

"If we can't save it, no one can," Anya said helpfully.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron said in a strangled voice, holding a hand to his stomach.

"Then get out," said Anya. She turned to Faith and demanded, "Why did you have to tell them? If he barfs in here, you're cleaning it up."

Faith shrugged. "Andrew can do it," she said.

Andrew made a sound of protest, then slumped his shoulders in defeat.

"Can you please stop talking about it?" Ron moaned. "You're making it worse."

Giles came back in, muttering angrily, "Incompetent book pushers … wouldn't have a clue on how to deal with the real world." He stopped, seeing Harry wearing out the carpet, Ron in a cold sweat and Hermione staring at nothing in particular. Giles' forehead creased into worry lines. "What happened?" he asked quickly. "What did you do to them?"

"They know there's an apocalypse coming," said Dawn, rolling her eyes.

"And who said that?" Giles demanded. He crossed the room to his armchair.

"Faith," most of the Sunnydale people chorused.

"Gee, thanks," Faith said sarcastically. "Remind me never to ask any of you to watch my back."

"Really," said Giles in disgust. "I'm gone five minutes and you're already terrifying them."

"So stake me," she said unconcernedly. "I thought they could handle it. I'm sure Harry can."

Something in Harry snapped. "How can you do that?" he demanded, grinding his pacing to a halt.

"Do what?" Faith asked innocently.

"All of you," he said angrily. "How can you be so light-hearted and unserious about it all? It's the end of the world for Merlin's sake!"

"Merlin?" Spike smirked.

"Oh, we're serious," Buffy said, sitting up straight.

"If we didn't act the way we did and have some fun, we'd go crazy," added Willow.

"Are you sure you're not already?" Ron mumbled hopefully. He winced as Hermione elbowed him in the side, and pressed his second hand to his queasy stomach.

"Besides, we only live once," said Buffy. "Uh … usually," she added, as Xander and Willow looked strangely at her.

Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't look convinced. The world's safety rested in the hands of a bunch of jokers.

"Look," Buffy said with an exasperated sigh. "We deal with the big things here. There's an apocalypse of some kind every twelve months. End of the school year, end of the world, that's just how it goes. We stop it, we move on. Yada, yada, yada." She waved a careless hand in the air. "Of course, this is the scariest one we've ever had but we'll pull through somehow, because this isn't a job or a choice for us, not like you three, this is our lives."

A sober silence followed her little speech.

"There is something that can help," Hermione eventually said in a small voice.

"And what would that be?" said Faith.

"Felix Felicis. A good luck potion," Hermione breathed.

Giles leaned forward excitedly. "Do they really exist?"

Hermione nodded.

"Just one spoonful and you'll have good luck all day. It sounds like you really need it," Harry added tightly. He hadn't moved from the spot where he'd stopped pacing. "You're facing the end of the world in who knows how much time, but before then we could be facing the end of England." He ran his hand anxiously through his hair again, this time without realising. "It's really quite simple. Buffy, if you come back with us and stop the demon we now know as the Judge, you will receive Felix Felicis and a number of other potions in return."

Faith's eyes held a calculated gleam. "Well, B, you have to go now. Can't miss out on all those potions."

"Hang on …" she began.

"Buffy," Giles said. "You know what this means. What we're up against."

"Which is exactly why I shouldn't be going," she said. "These three know what they need." The Slayer's eyes shifted to each of her friends in turn, looking for support. She found none. Her gaze flicked briefly to Spike and moved away again.

"This good luck potion could really help," Giles persisted.

"If it works," she said reluctantly.

"These potions _do_ work! We wouldn't give you any duds!" Ron said in as much outrage as he could muster. He wasn't quite as green as before but he still wasn't looking too well.

"I can't just take off," the Slayer said. "What about Dawn?"

Her younger sister rolled her eyes again. "I can take care of myself, Buffy, and it's not as if I'm not surrounded by heaps of people."

"And what if I'm suddenly needed here?"

Harry wondered why she kept hesitating. The offer was exceptional, something no other Muggle would receive. "We can always bring you back," he said.

"Buff," Xander said. "You can't let the Judge run around frying people."

"Xander's right," Willow encouraged. "You're the best person for the job. I think you should go and beat the Judge again."

"I can take care of things here, B," Faith said, linking her fingers and stretching her arms out in front of her. "Sunnydale still has a Slayer. I could enjoy this … being in charge …"

Buffy glared at her. "What about when the potions run out?" she said to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "They'll be no good to us then."

"It's a once only deal," Ron told her, shaking his head. "The Ministry can't keep supplying you with unlimited potions."

"Then provide instructions on how to make them," the Slayer said, starting to bargain.

"You can't be taught," Ron said. "Muggles don't have the magic to create potions."

"What about a Muggle witch, then?" Buffy countered. "How about Will? She could learn."

"What?" Willow exclaimed, shocked.

"Sure you can," said Buffy.

"But – but," Willow stammered. "I was all for it when it was just you going."

Hermione's interest flared up, despite her shock on the future of the world. "You're a Muggle witch?" she asked.

"I – I guess you could put it like that," Willow said distractedly. Her expression was anxious, her brows knitted together.

"I don't know," Ron said doubtfully, appraising the suddenly nervous witch. "We'll have to ask the Minister if you can learn, but I guess there's nothing to stop you coming."

"I can't," cried Willow. Turning, she said, "Buffy, me and all that magic?"

"I'm not going without you, Will. I need you there." The Slayer's tone was non-negotiable.

"But …" said Willow.

"If I'm going, then so are you," Buffy insisted, looking at her hard.

Then something odd happened. Buffy, Willow, Kennedy, Xander and Giles were all looking back and forth from one another. The way they all seemed to focus on one person at a time suggested they were having a silent conversation.

Ron glanced over at Harry who was standing to one side of the room, and raised his eyebrows. Harry shrugged in return. He'd never seen anything like it.

"All right," Willow said finally, looking pale. She gave a trembling smile when Kennedy squeezed her hand. "I'll come. We'll both come."

"Brilliant," said Harry. They were finally starting to get somewhere with this mission. "Thank you."

Ron and Hermione added their own thanks as well.

Harry warned, "We can't guarantee the Minister will let Willow learn those potions …"

"Sure," said Buffy, more agreeable now. "And the sooner we get out of here, the sooner me and Will can return, right?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Just as soon as you've gotten rid of the Judge."

"We'd better leave tomorrow, then," sighed Buffy. "I want to be back here as soon as possible. So Giles, did you find out anything from the Council?"

"The Council?" Harry interrupted.

"The Watcher's Council," said Giles. "A group back in England who have been around since the first Slayer. They train men and women to be Watchers and one of them gets assigned to the Slayer, training and guiding her, in turn."

"We don't like them," said Xander. "Except for Giles. He used to be Buffy's Watcher."

"So did you get anything out of them?" Buffy asked again.

The former Watcher had started yawning again. "I did … a-uh …" he replied, fighting through yet another giant yawn. "Sorry. I did find a few things out. Ten days ago, they were confronted by four men carrying wands. The Council members thought it was a joke – until they ended up unconscious, that is. When they woke, they realised nothing was destroyed, and nothing taken, except for the pieces of the Judge. The members thought they could deal with the situation themselves. That's why they kept quiet and didn't contact Buffy.

"They worked out what was going on from the spate of gas leak stories in the news and investigated, but every person who did so came back with no memory of his task. In fact, their memories were strangely altered." He looked meaningfully at Harry who was still standing, and at Ron and Hermione seated on the sofa.

"Oh," Hermione gasped in realisation, turning red.

"Your Obliviators overdid their job," Giles said, surveying them through his glasses. "They rewrote not only the events of that night, but also wiped away all previous memory and knowledge those men had about the Judge. Those men had to keep restudying old records to get that prior knowledge back."

"On behalf, of the London Ministry of Magic, we'd like to apologise," Hermione said, shame-faced.

"Actually, they might have been done a favour," the former Watcher said, surprising them. "A very unlikely one. They could have found the Judge by accident and been unable to defend themselves. They were quite relieved when I told them a team of witches and wizards were on the job."

"They don't know what was done to their minds, do they?" Ron asked uncomfortably. "You didn't tell them?"

"No. They have a message for you, though."

"What?" Ron asked warily.

"They wanted me to tell you 'all the best with it'."

"They said that, did they?" Harry asked irritably, jamming his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Yes," Giles said.

"Right," muttered Harry. This really was the mission no one wanted. "Right," he said again. "Hermione, do you have that Veratiserum?"

"Of course." She opened up a pouch attached to her belt, pulled out a tiny vial of colourless liquid and handed it to him.

"What's that for?" Buffy asked immediately.

"It's a truth serum," Harry told her. "The most powerful one there is. You said earlier we need to find out ourselves what the Dark wizards in league with the Judge are after."

Buffy nodded.

"Well," said Harry, jerking his head. "We can start with those three in the corner."

* * *

**A/N: **Well, how was that? Review please. I need feedback! 


	4. Questions and Discoveries

**A/N:** A terrible precedent has been set on this fic. I got over 100 hits on the last chapter and _nobody_, except for one lovely person, bothered to review. If you are interested in reading, please comment and keep me interested in posting.

Here is the next chapter.

**

* * *

Monday, 2 June 2002**

**10.28 P.M.**

**Questions and Discoveries**

Harry carefully uncapped the vial of Veratiserum and tipped a few drops onto Aeneas' lips. He cancelled the Full-Body Bind Curse and the wizard's body relaxed out of its immobile state. Then the truth potion took effect, making his jaw slacken and eyes wander slightly. Harry hauled the still-bound wizard into a sitting position against the wall, and knelt down to face him at eye level. "Right," he said. "Who are you?"

There was no response.

The usual dosage wasn't strong enough. Harry grasped the man's jaw, making it open, and tipped in another couple of drops. The man's eyes wandered just a little further. Harry grunted. They _should _have been out of focus. "Who are you?" he repeated.

"Aeneas Waldgrave," the man said slowly.

Harry eyed him suspiciously. Aeneas Waldgrave's voice was not flat and monotonous like those under the influence of Veratiserum. Instead, it was cadent, rising and falling with the syllables. The truth potion wasn't working very well.

Behind Harry, there was a soft click of a ball-point pen as Hermione started taking notes on her small Muggle notepad.

"Why are you in Sunnydale?" he asked.

"Visiting … family."

"What family?"

There was a delay before the potion forced the answer out. "Brothers."

Frowning, Harry gave him another drop. "Are you here for some other purpose?"

The Dark wizard started shaking his head, fighting to clear his mind. "No-o."

Harry considered what to do next. Veratiserum was the most powerful truth potion in existence, just three drops made most people spill their most private and fiercely guarded secrets. Four drops was near on guaranteed. So far, Waldgrave had twice the usual dosage, and it was barely working. Either the Dark wizard had an incredible amount of willpower, the Veratiserum was old and weak, or the wizard had taken an antidote of sorts before being captured. In any case, feeding him more Veratiserum seemed pointless.

He tried another question. "How long have you been in the United States?"

"Three …" the wizard said, the potion's effects rapidly wearing off. His eyes were quickly becoming more still.

"Three what?" Harry asked impatiently. "Days? Weeks? _Months_? Why else are you here?"

Waldgrave's eyes snapped into sharp focus and bored straight into Harry's own. When he next spoke, his voice was clear and paused between each word for effect, "I. Am. Not. Here. For. Any. Other. Reason."

Harry made a noise of disgust and pointed his wand at the sandy-haired wizard. "_Stupefy_," he muttered, making the man slump forward, head bowed and unconscious.

"Glad to see it works, Harry," Faith said.

He swiveled around from his kneeling position to see her giving him the two thumbs up, and flushed in embarrassment. Buffy was being paid by potions for her work, and the first chance she and the others had of seeing one in action had failed. "It works on most people!" he snapped.

"So it's not foolproof," said Buffy.

Harry forced himself to sound more polite. "No."

"So that means the good luck potion you offered isn't foolproof, either," Buffy said.

"It _does_ work, but luck will only take a person so far –"

Anya was indignant. "You could have mentioned that before. You made that deal with Buffy under false pretences."

"I did not!" said Harry. "We said luck would help. Luck is just an aid, nothing more. A person still needs skill."

"Well, at least we have plenty of that," said Xander.

"We wouldn't be here otherwise," Harry said shortly, and changed the subject. "Anya. You were an acquaintance of Waldgrave. What do you know about him?"

She shrugged noncommittally, still miffed. "As a vengeance demon I had nothing much to do with guys unless I was punishing them." Remembering something, she brightened. "Aeneas eventually took his sister's wormy boyfriend out of the jar and used him in the compost. He put it on his roses and gave me some," she said, grinning delightedly. "That was so thoughtful."

"I hope he gave you the flowers and not the compost," Buffy said dryly.

"You never give me any," Anya complained to Xander.

"Ask and you shall get," he beamed.

"Roses," she said, nodding her head. "I like roses."

"Then you shall have them, sweetie. I shall get some tomorrow."

Harry thought they were all mental. Brilliant maybe, but most definitely and utterly mental. He noticed Hermione had one eyebrow raised at their behaviour. Ron, on the other hand, had his eyes closed and there was the telltale movement of eyeballs rolling under lids. Ron seemed to have recovered from his near-heaving experience.

Hermione saw what her partner was doing and shook her head in disapproval. "Harry, why don't you try the next wizard?"

"Yeah – right." Then he paused. "We didn't receive old Veratiserum, did we, Hermione?"

"Of course we didn't."

"Hmm." Harry selected and dosed the man with the crooked nose, pointed his wand and said, "_Enervate_." The wizard opened his eyes and started cursing. Without a moment's hesitation, Harry Stupefied him again. "Are you sure we didn't receive old Veratiserum, Hermione?" he said, holding up the vial and squinting at the tiny use-by date on the base.

"I'm _sure_, Harry," she said, annoyed. "I checked it before we left."

Wanting to see for himself, he read the tiny label. November 2002 – still five months to expiry.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Harry," Hermione snapped.

Red-faced, he put the vial down.

"Try the last one," she commanded.

With a sigh, Harry did as he was told and hauled the third wizard – the youngest – up into a sitting position against the wall. He administered a liberal amount of the truth serum, and Revived him.

The Dark wizard opened his eyes. They were very light blue, disturbingly pale just like the rest of him. The man focused on Harry and grinned. He had also been the one to grin in the cemetery, just before he and the crooked-nosed wizard had tried to murder Buffy. "You won't get anything out of me," he said smugly.

Harry gritted his teeth. He had used a total of sixteen drops on all three wizards. It should have taken only nine to have them spilling their innermost secrets. Considering the arrogant, smirking man, he decided to change tactics. There were three Unforgivable Curses: the Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse and the Imperius Curse, the last of which Aurors were allowed to use, purely for the purpose of interrogation. It was designed to make people do your bidding.

"_Imperio_," he said, casting the spell.

The nasty grin vanished from the pale wizard's face. He now smiled gently, his entire demeanour one of peace and relaxation. Harry knew what it was like – in the past, both Voldemort and the impostor Mad-Eye Moody had used this spell on him. Victims often found the curse rather pleasant, their mind floating vaguely, while awareness of present surroundings and any pain faded away to muted unimportance.

In his mind, Harry spoke to the wizard. _Tell me the truth_.

The wizard immediately struggled to regain his mind. _No_ … he thought.

_Who are you_?

_Thayne Rank_, he thought automatically.

Harry nodded in satisfaction. _Tell me why you're here_.

_I can't_ …

_Tell me_, Harry ordered with a touch more force. _What is it you are doing here_?

The wizard's face grew almost dream-like, before the expression began to slide. Whatever they were hiding, he was determined to keep it that way. _We're here to _… _here to_ …

_Yes_? Harry thought eagerly, on the brink of getting information.

_We're here to find_ … Rank frowned. _No_ …

_Find what_?

_No _… _I'm not saying_.

_Tell me now_! Harry demanded, increasing his power.

Rank's face grew slack-jawed, his eyes slid in and out of focus for a moment, much like Aeneas' behaviour under the Veratiserum. _Find more_ … _more_, Rank thought, struggling visibly, his body shaking and face screwed up as he fought the Unforgivable Curse. _No. I won't tell you._

_You must_! Harry ordered.

"No!" the wizard shouted, breaking free of the curse. "You're not learning that from me."

Harry growled with frustration and received a giant smirk in reply. He weighed his options. Rank was hiding something very important. Using more force would result in getting that information from him, or damaging his mind and making it useless. Harry decided not to take the risk. He Stunned Rank and turned back to the others in the room, completely exasperated.

"No luck, then?" asked Ron.

"No." Harry told them what little he had found out and Hermione wrote it down.

"He's pale enough," said Faith. "Too bad he's not a vampire. I could flog him 'til he talked …"

"Yes, flogging would be her specialty," added Buffy.

Startled, Harry glanced at the second Slayer. The fingers on her right hand were curling into and out of a fist. If she was anything like Buffy, or even less reserved, she'd give Rank a solid pounding. "Lucky for him, he's not," he said, voice cool.

"What were you doing to him, then?" she retorted. "You were shaking him uncontrollably."

"I was not. He was fighting the curse on his mind. He didn't have to."

"If someone was inside my mind trying to force out my secrets, I'd be doing the same thing," said Faith. "Of course," she added, looking at Harry intently, "I'd be more happy to whisper them so no one else could hear."

Ron snorted.

Harry stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, not quite sure what to make of Faith. She was all over the place when it came to personality. Friendly one moment and moody the next, and unless he was imagining it, she was flirting with him. Judging by the snort of intelligence, Ron thought so too. "That's not going to work with these people," Harry said, putting an end to that undercurrent. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "Maybe the Legilimens at the Ministry will be able to get more out of them."

"Maybe," Ron said. "But we still have to run around here investigating this lot. You'd think we didn't have enough problems," he added with a meaningful glance.

Harry grimaced in reply.

"Well, it's too late to do anything now," Buffy said, standing up. She hesitated for a few seconds. "Guess you'll have to stay here, then. But not the Dark wizards. I'm not having them sleep in the house. Or outside."

"We'll take them back to England," Hermione said. "And thank you." She flipped her notepad closed, unclicked her pen and returned both to the small pouch on her belt, along with the vial of remaining Veratiserum Harry had just passed her. "It would only be for one night. Two at most."

"There's no space for you in the bedrooms," the Slayer warned. "You'll have to crash in the lounge with the Potentials."

"That's all right," said Hermione.

"Where's all your stuff?" Buffy asked.

"Not a problem," said Hermione. "I can get it."

"We don't have any more blankets, either."

Ron grinned. "I can fix that." He pulled out his wand and pointed to an empty space in the middle of the lounge, conjuring up three pillows and two squashy bright orange and black sleeping bags – a double for him and Hermione, and a single for Harry.

"That's so cool," Dawn said, grinning as well.

Spike scowled. "Show off." He looked around for a reply and got none. "I'm going out," he said loudly.

Giles waved a hand idly and didn't turn around. "Yes, you do that, Spike."

The vampire gave everyone a final glare and left, the front door banging shut behind him.

Harry glanced over at the Dark wizards propped up against the wall, and sighed. He was starting to feel worn out again. "Guess we'd better get them to the Ministry now," he said.

"I'll give you a hand," Hermione said. She stood up, gave Ron's arm a reassuring squeeze and smiled. "Won't be long."

Harry set about reactivating their Portkey. Aiming his wand, he thought of the London Ministry of Magic and murmured, "_Portus_." The sock glowed blue and flapped about for a few seconds, before becoming still and returning to faded grey.

Travelling by Portkey was a little trickier when extra people were involved. Each person had to have direct contact with it, or be brought by someone who did. Harry would take care of two wizards, while Hermione looked after one. Returning his wand to his sleeve, he bent down and gripped the sock and Waldgrave's wrist in one hand, and took hold of Rank's wrist with the other. Hermione tapped her wand against each of Harry's hands and cast the Unbreakable Hold Spell. Using it meant that no person or item got left behind or lost in mid-flight, so it was very handy. If a Dark wizard in their care dropped out of the sky, it was worth more than their careers. "_Teneo infragilis_," Hermione said again, securing her grip on her own captive. She stowed her wand and touched a finger to the exposed part of the Portkey.

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking up.

She nodded.

He started counting back softly, "Three … two … one …"

Harry felt the familiar sensation of a hook being jerked from behind his navel, and Buffy's lounge room and all its occupants disappeared in a tumultuous swirl of colour and roaring wind, as the five of them flew through the air to a point one third of the way around the world.

Several minutes later, they were standing in the Atrium of the London Ministry of Magic. They had left before eleven o'clock on a Californian Monday night. Now it was just before seven on an English Tuesday morning. People were arriving early for work.

Hermione was already cancelling her spell. Freed from the Unbreakable Hold, Harry got to work and had the three wizards floating in the air in moments. He guided them towards the other end of the Atrium, past the fountain in the middle, past Eric the security wizard, and then through golden gates, towards the lifts. From there, they would be going in different directions.

"I'll meet you back here in fifteen minutes," he told her as they separated.

"All right, Harry," she called over her shoulder.

Harry chose an empty lift, manoeuvred the three Dark wizards into it, and pressed the button for Level Nine. The wrought golden grilles slid shut, and the lift clattered down one floor to the Department of Mysteries. Ginny worked on this floor but wouldn't be in yet. Unfortunately, he would miss seeing her.

The lift doors opened and he moved the Dark wizards up the long corridor. The only thing he could see at the other end was a plain black door leading to the Department of Mysteries. His palms became slightly sweaty, and the closer he came to the plain black door at the end, the more his unease grew. The door was a gateway to the many bad memories, to the unexplained, and to seemingly impossible. Occasionally, he would visit Ginny while she was in there. _Very _occasionally. He wouldn't get in there for anyone else.

Harry veered left just before reaching the ominous door. A downward flight of steps brought him to another, cooler corridor, one made of rough stone and lit by torches in brackets upon the walls. This was the location of the holding cells for those captured and awaiting further questioning, those awaiting transfer to the wizarding prison of Azkaban, and those awaiting trial. The Courtrooms were also down here, as Harry knew only too well.

He paused in front of the first door he came to. Removing a large, old-fashioned key from his belt, he unlocked the heavy wooden door, slid back the thick iron bolts holding it closed, and grated open the entrance to Prison Cell One. There was nothing inside, save for a chamber pot in one corner, and a dirty rug in the middle of the room for protection against the cold stone floor. Harry laid the Dark wizards on the rug, removed their magical bindings, and locked them in. Either the men would wake up from the Stunning spells when they were ready, or when the Aurors interrogating them were ready. Whichever came first.

When Harry returned to the Atrium, Hermione was already there, writing on a piece of parchment at the security desk. It was to Anatola Harwich, the Head of the Auror Office, within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Two backpacks rested at Hermione's feet, one of which was his. She had collected the packs from their cubicles in the Auror Headquarters – an Auror policy in case emergency stopovers were required. The desk was manned by a wizard in peacock blue robes.

Harry approached them both. "Hello Eric," he said.

The wizard looked up and grinned. Badly shaven in prior years, Eric had long since given up and now sported a full beard. "Morning, Harry. Busy as usual?"

"Always."

Eric pulled out a blank interdepartmental memo stamped with the Ministry of Magic. "Hermione says you're both heading off again. Guess you'll be wanting this," he said, passing it over.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, thanks." Taking a quill, he dipped it into an inkpot on the desk, and scrawled a quick message:

_ Gin –_

_ Will be staying in Sunnydale with Ron and Hermione for the next one or two days – new developments …_

He paused, remembering a few hours back, the sight of Ginny as she slept, the warmth of her soft breath upon him, and added with a smile:

_ Didn't want to leave you early this morning._

_ Love you,_

_ Harry_

Folding the pale violet memo into a paper aeroplane, he sent it up into the air. It swooped around in an arc before heading towards the lifts, where it would find its way to Ginny's office and be waiting for her when she came in.

"Thanks Eric," he said again, returning the quill to its stand.

"That's what I'm here for," the security wizard said with a wink. "To provide parchment, quills, memos, and the occasional pair of wizarding handcuffs."

Hermione finished writing her message to Anatola Harwich and slipped it into a large envelope. Harry dropped in their prisoners' wands and the whole package was sealed and given to Eric.

"I'll make sure she gets it when she comes in," he said, sliding open a desk drawer and using a spell to seal the envelope inside.

While Hermione thanked the security wizard, Harry hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. The Atrium was much more crowded now with arriving Ministry employees and visitors. He idly fingered the Portkey in his pocket.

Hermione turned to face him. "I hope Ron isn't causing too much trouble back in Sunnydale," she said, half-joking.

"You never know with Ron," he replied, and pulled out the Portkey for their third whirlwind journey of the day.

* * *

As soon as Hermione, Harry and the Dark wizards disappeared from the lounge room, Giles rubbed his eyes tiredly from behind his glasses and bid everyone good night. Willow, Kennedy, Buffy, Xander, Anya and Faith followed him up the stairs. Spike had already walked out. The only other people left were the fifteen Potentials and Andrew the nerd, all of whom appeared would be sleeping downstairs in the lounge as well. 

Left to his own devices, Ron started glancing around the Muggle room in interest. If he ignored the lack of magical items, and if he didn't count the overhead light globes, table lamps and other ecklectical devices, it didn't look too different from a wizarding lounge room. There were books and furniture, and photographs, though the boring Muggle kind where everyone looked like they'd been hit by a Freezing Charm. Then his eyes fell on the television, which was off.

"Oh, a telly," he said excitedly, pleased to demonstrate his Muggle knowledge. "I've watched one before. I saw a couple of movies on it with Hermione – they're moving and talking picture stories."

The chatter fell away, and sixteen pairs of eyes stared at him.

"What?" Ron said uneasily, shifting position on the sofa.

Then a couple of the young Potentials let out a giggle or three, much to his dismay and horror.

"Doesn't have a clue," whispered one.

"Weird," whispered another, giving him a furtive glance and another stupid giggle.

Feeling his ears burn hot, Ron said, "Excuse me," and nearly bolted out of the room in his escape. He found himself in the kitchen. _Bloody hell_, he thought, sitting down on a stool by the kitchen bench. _What was it with girls_? _Completely mad_,_ the lot of them_. Well, maybe except for Ginny. And Hermione, of course, though he struggled to understand her half the time.

He stayed there for what seemed like hours, hearing people clumping up and down the stairs, in the process of getting ready for bed. There was a mild commotion, the thudding of packs on the floor, and then Harry and Hermione appeared in the doorway.

"Ron?" Hermione asked in concern. "What are you doing hiding in here?" She came over and stood beside him. Harry ended up nearby, leaning forward casually against the bench. He seemed a little cheered after his Ministry visit.

Ron made a face at them both. "I'm not … exactly …" he said, and paused. "They already think I'm barking."

"What did you do?" she said, in a tone caught halfway between exasperation and resignation.

"Nothing!" Ron exclaimed indignantly. He could feel his bloody ears betraying him, turning red again.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Caving, he told them what happened. "I'm not looking forward to the rest of the night," he added, mildly anxious.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"We have to sleep squashed into the same room as them gigglers out there!"

Hermione grinned.

"Are you laughing at me?" Ron demanded.

"No, I'm not," Hermione said, holding her arms out in front of her, palms facing forward, in a gesture of denial. Her smile danced on and off her face in her struggle.

"Oh yeah, sure you're not," scoffed Ron, now glowing from anger as well.

"Ron, when are you going to learn about Muggles? There are certain things you just can't say or do without people looking at you oddly," said Hermione.

"I don't need to. I don't stay around Muggles long enough for that."

"And it shows."

"Hmph," Ron said, insulted. He turned away from her. His own partner could at least not poke fun at him.

In the quiet that followed, Harry said, "All right, master strategist, you're good at reading people. What do you think of this lot?"

Ron was lost in thought for several moments, his fingers slowly and lightly drumming the bench top. "Well, Anya's off her rocker," he announced. "I'm glad she's not still a vengeance demon. She's one seriously strange bird. Xander is also strange but not quite as bad as her. Buffy is rather uncommitted but that could have something to do with Faith, competition from another Slayer and all that. Faith –" he added, looking pointedly at Harry "– is in a class of her own, and it's not a very good one."

Harry made a face in return. "Yes, I got that."

"Giles is cool," Ron said, continuing, "and Spike definitely doesn't like us. We've not seen any evidence that Willow can do magic, but she seems afraid of it. Her girlfriend Kennedy seems to be the strong, silent type – she hasn't said too much so far. Andrew is one whiny bloke who would probably be scared by his own shadow at night. As for the Potential Slayers, well, you already know what I think. They're just a bunch of immature girls."

Harry nodded. "I was thinking along the same lines for much of it, and they are rather dismissive of Andrew, aren't they?"

"Did you get a look at the flowery apron he wore?" Ron said with a grimace. "Maybe he's the househusband."

"More like the servant," Harry said, chuckling. "Considering this is Buffy's house, I think Spike would be closest to taking that place. He seemed rather jealous when we arrived."

"When _you_ arrived, you mean," Ron corrected him.

Harry scowled. There was nothing he could say to that. "Every one of these people has a warped sense of humour. I thought it might have just been Buffy but they're all the same."

"Yes," said Hermione suddenly.

Ron was confused. "To which part?"

"Oh, all of it." Her next words were tentative. "Do you believe them … you know … about all this end of the world business?"

The mood in the room darkened immediately, and Ron slumped over, depressed. "Yeah, I do. Nothing much we can do about it, though, other than give them Felix Felicis and hope for the best."

A shadow seemed to come into Harry's face and his gaze shifted away from them. "If the end does happen, death is not that bad," he murmured. "There are worse things."

"Harry …" Ron said quietly, concerned.

Hermione reached out a gentle hand and touched Harry on the arm.

Realising he had let something slip, he shook his head and pulled away, then looked directly at them. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked in a falsely bright voice. The subject was well and truly changed.

Ron tried to meet his gaze and failed. He could handle the angry behaviour, the wallowing in a miserable funk, even the pretending that everything was fine, but when his best friend pretending with that haunted, terrible look in his eyes, it was more than Ron could bear. He focused on the bench top instead. "Well, it's half-past seven back in England," he murmured truthfully. "We'd've had breakfast by now."

Hermione quickly caught on to the change in topic. "Right – yes – we would have," she agreed, and shook her head in disbelief. "You and your stomach, Ron. I'll never understand it."

"What's to understand?" he asked, looking up at her.

"How can you eat when the world might be coming to an end?" she accused. "You were ready to be sick just over an hour ago."

Ron ducked his head a little. "A bloke's gotta eat. No point starving myself … Some toast, maybe. Definitely not porridge."

"I'm going to sleep," Harry told them shortly. "Catch up on a few hours or so before we start hunting around." He left before they could say anything more.

"Poor Harry," Hermione said sadly. "It's been five years. Do you think he'll ever be able to tell us all that happened?"

"Other than the standard summary that he saw his dead parents and dead godfather, and killed Voldemort? And tell any of us other than Ginny?"

"Yes," she said softly.

Ron sighed. "Not likely, and the way he's going, not anytime soon." He pulled out his wand.

"You weren't serious about breakfast, were you?" Hermione asked, startled.

"Of course I was," said Ron, making a plate of toast, butter and honey appear. "You know me – I'm always serious about my food." He pushed the plate towards her. "Hungry?"

She eyed it, no doubt wondering if she could manage to eat anything. In the end, after Ron's coaxing, she took a single piece.

* * *

When a morose Harry returned to the lounge, he found the room in a chaotic mess of people and sleeping bags. Andrew and all of the Potential Slayers, were there, except for one. The oldest Potential, Kennedy, stayed with Willow. 

Harry pulled a pair of pyjamas out of his backpack and headed upstairs. In the privacy of the bathroom, he removed his wand from his sleeve, fully intending to put it aside and get changed. He ended up staring at it instead. It was twelve inches long, made of holly and phoenix feather. A replacement.

His first wand had been destroyed in that final battle with Voldemort. He missed using that wand. Also made of holly and phoenix feather, it had been eleven inches long, but now the treasured pieces lay in a box in the top drawer of his desk at home. Those pieces were his last remaining link to Dumbledore. A very small part of him supposed it had served its purpose. The replacement, however, could never compare. With a tinge of regret and sadness, he put it down and started to get changed.

When he opened the door a few minutes later, Faith was standing just outside.

"Forgot to brush my teeth," she said, flashing him her pearly whites.

"Huh," Harry said, instantly suspicious. Before he could get out, she squeezed past him with a wink, moving so that she was always facing him.

Harry cursed silently. She'd been giving him looks nearly the entire time he'd been in Buffy's house. He wondered if she'd noticed the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, if that was what initially drew her attention. The last thing he needed was another person gawping at it and asking him questions. He hurriedly flattened his hair, making sure the scar wasn't visible.

Faith's eyes strayed, following the movement. "Tidying your hair for me?" she asked wickedly. "Oh, you shouldn't have."

"I didn't," he grunted.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "See you in the morning, Harry." She turned away, as if dismissing him, and reached for a toothbrush next to the basin.

Harry heard her voice again as soon as he left and turned down the hallway. "Pleasant dreams," she called out.

_If that woman thinks she has a chance _…, he fumed, clearing off towards the lounge.

Attention, particularly the female kind, was something that plagued Harry's life. In the wizarding world – Britain and much of the rest of Europe, even the bloody rest of the continents – people knew who he was. In the Muggle world, unbelievably, he _still_ drew attention. Much of the time, he couldn't understand it. He didn't rate his physical attractiveness _that_ highly.

Hermione once said he had never been more interesting or fanciable to girls, but that was only because of fame. His wonderful love, Ginny, told him he was gorgeous, but she was completely biased. Muggle women liked him, but then they always seemed to like dark hair and tall blokes for some unfathomable reason.

And of course, every Muggle was attracted by the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which he kept covered as much as possible. Once, a Muggle kid on the street had glimpsed it, backtracked, and asked excitedly if he'd met a broken bottle in a fight.

_Attention was a curse_, Harry thought as he stuffed his work clothes into his pack.

The room around him was quiet. The Potentials and Andrew were already half-asleep. The light was off but there was still enough glow from the kitchen to see by. Ron and Hermione, judging by their murmurs, were still there. That was good. He didn't want to see them again just yet, or their sympathy. He got into the soft, downy sleeping bag Ron had conjured for him, and put his wand – this one spelled against breaking – into its usual place under his pillow. Punching the pillow into a more comfortable position, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him.

* * *

Harry woke up suddenly, having been struck on the side of his head. A weight fell over his face. Unable to breathe, he clawed at it with one hand, while the other slipped under his pillow and whipped out his wand before he even knew what attacked him. 

Throwing off the object, he saw something white and large fly upwards in the low light.

"_Immobulus_!" The object, caught by a Freezing Charm, was stuck in mid-air. A girl squeaked and he realised stupidly that the object was another pillow.

"You're snoring!" she cried.

He looked over to see her sitting up, looking furiously right back. She was the one that had hurled the pillow at him. Glancing around, he saw all the Potentials peering at him from under their pillows, which they had no doubt been using to block their ears. Andrew, surprisingly, was dead to the world.

Harry scowled, annoyed at being woken from a good sleep, especially in such a rude manner, but at the same time, he was faintly amused. Was he really that loud? Ron and Hermione had never complained on the occasions the three of them worked away.

"We can't sleep!" cried the same girl.

"All right," Harry grumbled. "I'll use a Silencing Charm." He turned the wand on himself and muttered, "_Silencio_," before returning it to its place.

"Good! And what about my pillow?" she demanded, holding out a hand.

Harry freed it from its spell and tossed it to her, then lay back down. His snoring never worried Ginny; she even said she preferred it. She would wake up otherwise, hearing it was too quiet, and then check to see if he was still breathing. Sometimes, he caught her at it. Ginny worried too much. If he was going to die young, then it was not going to be while he snoozed. He fingered his commitment ring, smiled and slept.

* * *

**A/N:** Now, time to review ... 


	5. The Other Side of Sunnydale

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait! I've gotten caught up a bit in things here. Not to mention a sudden interest in overhauling and working on my _Sleeping Princess_ fic again. I'll make sure to keep updating _Collision_ though. No longer than a month gap, though preferably less.

Reviews will make me update faster. To those who have, thank you! To those who haven't, c'mon, what are you waiting for? Surely this fic isn't that bad!

**sparky24:** Oops! As you can see, it's been a while since I've watched Buffy. I'll not mention the Watcher's Council again. Feel free to point out any other mistakes.

**satelliteblues21:** Faith and Spike didn't start attacking the Dark wizards as they belonged to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Not in their jurisdiction, so to speak. Faith is also trying to control herself around humans. She did (eventually) go willingly to jail for killing one. As for Spike, where he goes next is another matter ...

**

* * *

****Tuesday, 3 June 2002**

**6.11 A.M.**

**The Other Side of Sunnydale**

Getting in several hours of sleep did much to improve Harry's mood. After getting knocked awake by a flying pillow, he had woken up only one more time during the night, and that was because Spike had come back in, creeping through the front door. That white-blonde dye job had been unmistakable.

Judging by the soft light filtering through lounge room curtains, the sun hadn't yet risen. Harry lazily stretched his arms outside his sleeping bag and looked around the quiet room.

No one else was awake.

Ron and Hermione were curled up together, wisely sleeping off time zone lag. The Potentials and Andrew were still out of it.

Sunnydale was eight hours behind London in time. _Tuesday morning again_, Harry thought in amusement. As he got up, his conjured sleeping bag and pillow vanished. His wand, now sitting in mid-air, dropped an inch or two and landed lightly on the carpet.

Andrew groaned at the faint sound and rolled over.

Silently gathering his wand and fresh clothes, Harry sneaked out of the room and up the stairs. He wanted to change before anyone else – especially Faith – got up. No way would he get cornered by her again. He snorted softly. The woman was so sure of herself, it was unhealthy.

In the bathroom, he pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved brown shirt – fairly nondescript clothing that would blend in among Muggles – before splashing water on his face, and using a gentle version of the Scouring Charm to clean his teeth.

By the time he returned, Andrew was already up and gone. Clanking noises heralded the making of breakfast. Following them, he discovered the man rummaging through a cupboard, while a couple of bags of bread and several packets of bacon lay on a nearby bench.

Andrew resurfaced, frypan in hand, and set it upon the cooktop, before noticing he wasn't alone. "Oh, hi Harry," he said excitedly.

Harry worked his mouth but no sound came out. The Silencing spell was still in place. _Bugger_. He used his wand to cancel it. The other man's eyes widened and he split open the first packet of bacon without looking where the knife was going.

"Hullo Andrew," Harry said carefully, not wanting to excite the bloke any further. His magic didn't extend to reattaching lost digits.

"Do you want some bacon? There's plenty to go around."

"No thanks. Have you marmalade instead? And can I use the toaster?"

"Help yourself." Andrew pointed at the pantry, watching curiously as Harry located the preserve and dropped a few slices into the kitchen appliance. "Wouldn't it be easier to just use magic?"

Shrugging, Harry said, "There's no need to use it for everything."

"Oh. I would. Not for bad spells or anything, but I do a lot of housework." The young man sounded a little miserable about it. He placed the bacon in the frypan and waited for it to start sizzling before asking his next question. "How long have you been a wizard?"

Harry took a plate from the stack on the island bench. "I was born one. I've been practising for ten years."

"That's longer than Willow. She's been doing magic for like six years now, but it's not always good," Andrew said with a slight shudder. "She can be scary sometimes.

"Can she?" Harry asked, deliberately casual as he tried to get a better understanding of who they'd be bringing back to London.

"Yeah, not stuff like you and your friends." For a few moments, Andrew looked downcast but then he suddenly brightened and changed the subject, to his guest's disappointment. "Last night," he said excitedly, "the way that you and Hermione disappeared and reappeared? That was just so cool. Almost as cool as people beaming back and forth on Star Trek."

His eagerness was infectious and Harry couldn't help but grin, even if he had no idea what Star Trek was. The toast popped up and he buttered it, thinking that Andrew was an unusual, infuriating, and amusing person all rolled into one.

"Magic is great when no one is trying to kill you," Andrew continued. "Have you killed anyone?"

Harry's knife froze for a few moments. "Yes," he said curtly, not bothering to look up. He'd forgotten to add nosy to his assessment of the man.

A smoky smell began to fill the kitchen.

"Really? Who?"

"I think your bacon's burning," Harry said rudely, not wanting to discuss the least finest moments of his life.

"What? Oh!" Andrew exclaimed, snatching the pan off the stove. He slid the bacon onto a plate and put in some fresh rashers. While they were cooking, he opened the window and flapped his hands towards it, trying to waft out the smell. Then he started buttering slices of bread and hastily stuffed the half-charred bacon between them. "No one will notice …"

Willow came in, stifling a yawn, and sank down on one of the stools by the bench. "Mmph," she groaned, folding her arms on the bench top and resting her head face-down upon them. "I need coffee," she announced, voice muffled. "I didn't sleep for most of the night."

Kennedy, who looked much more awake, kissed the back of her girlfriend's head. "Poor baby. I'll make you some."

"Thanks, Kennedy," Willow mumbled.

The whistling of the kettle a few minutes later brought in Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Potential Slayers.

"Oh yeah, breakfast," said one of the girls, heading over to the cooktop.

"Late lunch," said Ron.

"Whatever," said Faith, entering the kitchen. "Morning everyone … Hermy … R …" After a deliberate pause, she said, "Harry."

_Urgh_, Harry thought in disgust. Bracing himself, he returned the greeting.

Ron mumbled his, while Hermione shot an icy look towards the second Slayer. Harry knew she was proud of her unusual name and hated it reduced to something much less dignified.

"Morning," she said stiffly.

The Potential by the stove reached surreptitiously into the frypan, while Andrew buttered more bread and stacked the slices on a plate. He turned around to find her with a piece of warm bacon in hand. Grabbing the food turner, he rapped her smartly across the knuckles.

"Ow!" she squealed, nearly dropping the tantalising rasher.

"I've said before, wait until it's on the counter. How come no one ever listens to me?" he complained.

"Uh, let me see," Buffy said tartly, entering the room. "Maybe because you tried to take over the world and failed?"

"I – I guess that's a good enough reason," Andrew said shamefacedly.

Spike strode in, his long black leather coat swinging behind him, and snatched another piece of bacon out of the pan. Andrew eyed the vampire and this time, wisely kept quiet. He put the sandwiches together, and managed to snatch a couple for himself as people crowded round. The rest of the household – Giles, Xander, Anya and Dawn – arrived, and started digging in as well.

"So … Spike," Xander said, taking a bite of his breakfast. He frowned and lifted the lid of his sandwich, inspecting the contents. Shrugging, he took another mouthful. "What did you get up to last night?"

Spike gave him a withering glance. "I've been busy, haven't I? Going places the undead go. Can't hang around with you lot all the time," he said, snapping his leather coat straight. "Bad for my reputation."

"Your reputation as a vamp died a long time ago," Buffy said.

"I'm still feared, you know," he said proudly.

"By what?" Buffy said caustically, between bites. "The cockroaches in the basement?" She ignored Spike's scowl and turned to their guests, announcing, "I was talking upstairs with the others last night. Harry, I'll help you hunt for info on last night's wizards. Ron and Hermione, you can go to Giles' shop."

"_What_?" Harry, Ron and Spike exclaimed at the same time.

"Why can't all three of us go?" Ron demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?" Faith said scornfully. "You're over the Hellmouth now. You have no experience –" Harry and Ron protested again "– and no idea what you're dealing with. You can't go charging around as a group. You'll attract attention, particularly R over there."

Ron looked affronted.

Faith continued, "The only one suited to going is Harry, and even then, he'll need B to baby-sit him."

Now Harry felt insulted. He wondered briefly if Faith was trying to get back at him for rejecting her advances, then discounted it. He wasn't the only one getting offended. "I know how to look after myself!" he snapped. "And so do Ron and Hermione!"

The second Slayer cocked an eyebrow, adding to his irritation. "I'm sure you do in your world," she said smoothly, "but you're in ours now. You three came here looking for B's help and I'd take it." She smiled in what Harry thought was a very smug way.

He plastered a smile on his face in return, though it turned out to be more of a baring of teeth, than anything else.

Hermione took in the situation and interrupted before it could escalate further. "Of course, Harry accepts your help, Buffy," she said, speaking for him, "and we really appreciate you letting us look at your resources, Giles," she added graciously.

"Oh, you're very welcome," he replied. "I have a large number of volumes on the esoteric. You might find something of interest."

"I'm coming," Spike announced.

"To the Magic Box?" Giles asked in surprise.

"As if. I'm going with Buffy and wizard boy," he said darkly, jerking his head to indicate Harry.

Buffy was far from pleased. "No, Spike." The vampire opened his mouth to argue, and she firmly cut across him. "_No_, and in case you haven't noticed, it's daytime." She pointed to the open window, gesturing at the brightness beyond. "You remember? Sun? Smoke? The burning of flesh?"

Spike shrugged. "I'll take the sewers, then." He glanced jealously at Harry, and added, "I'll meet you there. No arguments."

"Fine," the Slayer said, exasperated. She took her dirty plate to the sink and ran water over it. "We're going to the bar. Harry, get ready. We leave in fifteen minutes."

Her words were the cue for everyone to get moving. Harry stood and joined the line for the sink. Ahead of him, he saw Hermione ask Dawn, "No school?"

"No," the Slayer's sister replied. "The Hellmouth opening in the bowels of the school, and the Ubervamps swarming out, kinda killed it. I'll just hang with you guys at the Magic Box."

By the time Harry rinsed his plate and turned around, the kitchen was empty, save for Ron and Hermione.

She took hold of his arm and said worriedly, "This is a strange place we're in. You'll take care, won't you, Harry?"

"Of course I will."

"Wish we could go with you, mate," Ron said, still looking sore. "It's just not right … us not being near the action … ending up stuck in a room full of books where we won't embarrass anyone."

"There's nothing wrong with books, Ron," Hermione told him. "And Faith's right," she said, pursing her lips together as though it killed her to admit it. "We do stand out. A little."

Ron sighed regretfully. He knew he stood out far more than Harry or Hermione when it came to Muggle behaviour. Unlike them, he hadn't grown up in a Muggle household. "I know, but still …"

"There might not be any action," Harry said. "Besides, you might find something useful. Anything at all. We'll not get this chance again."

* * *

Not long after seven o'clock, Harry and Buffy walked out the front door. Spike was right on their heels, holding a blanket over his head like a ridiculous canopy. Pushing past them, he took a wild leap off the porch and into the sun.

By the time his feet hit the ground, he'd already started smouldering. He ran for the shade of the nearest tree, paused a few moments, as if gathering his courage, and raced for the nearest manhole out in the street. Spike pried it open, the whole time yelling and cursing, as the smoke began to curl in earnest. He fell down below the street and a moment later, a blanket covered fist dragged the cover back in place.

The wind wafted in Harry and Buffy's direction and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoked vampire, holding his breath until it passed. "That's some fresh air you have around here."

Buffy rolled her eyes and started walking.

Harry fell into step beside her, thinking that Spike was either very jealous or very dedicated. "Has he ever actually caught on fire?" He was startled to see her grin.

"Yeah, he has, once or twice, but that's his fault," she said matter-of-factly. "As a two-hundred-year old vamp, he ought to know better."

"He's really that old?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes. Anyway, this bar we're going to? It's the best place for information. All the big nasties go there. You'll be fine if you stick with me. And let me do the talking. What is it you want to know?"

* * *

"This is it," said Buffy. "The only demon bar in Sunnydale."

They were standing in front of a run-down old building on the outskirts of town. The blinds on the windows were closed, making it impossible determine how many creatures – he hesitated to think demons – were inside. Harry would have liked his wand in hand but the Slayer had cautioned against it. To walk in armed was expected; to go in actually pointing a weapon was the height of stupidity.

He followed her and they stopped just inside the entrance, eyes adjusting to the comparative dimness. Light shades overhead and glass candle jars on tables and ledges cast a red tint about the room.

Harry's blood ran cold at what else he saw. An assortment of creatures, imaginings of the darkest, most twisted nightmares, were eyeing him hungrily. Some had horns, some had ear flaps, and another had tentacle-like things hanging off his chin. Harry's nervous mind thought that the red-eyed, snake-like Voldemort, the creature of _his_ nightmares, was nothing compared to what was before him now. The remainder of the things in the bar looked deceptively human, and Harry hoped for his and Buffy's sake they were vampires and not vengeance demons like Anya used to be.

The Slayer moved forward with utmost confidence, and Harry strode after her, trusting in her abilities, yet never further than a yard away. He moved his fingers so that their tips brushed the wand concealed within his shirt sleeve. From past experience with the demon Judge, his magic would be ineffective in all but surprise, but the action made him feel less helpless and more able to defend himself.

He stuck close by as the Slayer moved towards the bar, counting creatures as he went. Eight of them stood around pool tables, five were playing poker in the far corner, and four were at the bar. Those four included the bartender, two who appeared to be asleep … and Spike. The white-blonde vampire was wearing his usual scowl; his chin jutted out stubbornly as he gauged the narrow distance between Buffy and Harry.

Harry felt the insane urge to laugh and choked it back, thinking it wouldn't be the wisest move in a bar of demons. He'd probably be dog meat in two seconds flat. "There's your would-be chaperone," he murmured, before he could stop himself. "He got here fast."

The Slayer glared at him.

Harry shrugged. "It's rather obvious he likes you."

"Don't remind me," she muttered.

Spike got to his feet. "Everything all right, then?" he demanded. He regarded Harry with suspicion, then looked Buffy over, making sure she was safe.

"Yes, Spike," she said wearily.

Harry caught sight of some drinks on the counter. "What're those?"

"They would be yaks' urine shots and pigs' blood spritzers," Buffy announced.

He stared at them, aghast.

"They also serve beer," she added, amused by the look on his face.

"Dare I ask what's in it?" Harry murmured.

"You'd better not."

The creature behind the bar was dark-skinned and almost human, except for pronounced ridges over his eyes. He put down the glass he had just wiped. "The Slayer can't keep coming in here," he said warily. "It's bad for business."

"What can I say?" Buffy answered with a shrug. "I can't stay away."

His eyes flicked from the Slayer to Spike and then to Harry, before finally resting on the Slayer's face again. "What do you want this time?"

"Seen anything weird lately?"

"What kind of weird?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "There's a whole lot of that going on with the Hellmouth reopened."

"Oh, I don't know," she bantered with a smile. "New people from out of town."

He laughed mirthlessly and waved an arm. "Look around you, Slayer, this bar should be full. Patrons are going not coming."

"You'd remember these ones. They're from overseas. British."

The bartender shifted his weight. "What's that got to do with me?" he demanded cagily.

"You hear everything in here," Buffy told him. She placed her palms on the counter and leaned towards him. "Do we have to do this every time? I ask questions, you don't answer. I beat you up, you spill the dirt. Why not save my nails and your ribs?"

"I don't know nothing," he declared. A corner of the cloth he used for wiping glasses rolled around between his fingers – a nervous movement.

Harry found it hard to keep quiet while someone else was asking all the questions. He fidgeted as well.

"Sure you do," Buffy said. "They –"

"They do magic," Harry butted in.

The bartender's gaze swung round. "Who's this upstart?" he said roughly, and sniffed. A look of fear flitted across his face and he edged away along the counter, much to Harry's puzzlement.

"Bugger this," said Spike. He lunged forward as soon as the bartender was in range, taking a fistful of shirt and yanking the demon's upper body down so that it was flat on the counter. "Talk," he ordered.

The reply was muffled.

Spike pushed the bartender upright, without letting go. "What was that?"

"I said, he's one of _them_."

"What d'you mean?" Harry demanded, not liking the way he was being looked at.

"You have a wand," he said, eyes darting to where Harry's fingers were hovering. "You kill people with it, with that cursed green light."

Harry snatched his fingers away. "_What_?" he said sharply.

"You have the smell of death," the bartender said, trying to pry away Spike's fist. "Just like _them_."

Harry reeled backwards in horror, as Buffy and Spike regarded him. The bartender took the opportunity to jab Spike's grip with clawed nails.

"Ow!" Spike yelled, and let him go, nursing his wounded hand.

"Who's them?" Buffy demanded of the bartender.

He stayed quiet.

Buffy seized him herself. "Speak, or I get Harry here to start using his wand," she threatened. "That's not the only spell he knows."

Harry stood mute, feeling sick. He couldn't have used his wand now, even if he tried.

The bartender looked at him and shuddered. "Men came. Wizards. They smelt like this one, looking to recruit anyone to join them and the Judge back in England. There's been whispers of demons refusing. Some got killed by that green light," he said, spitting on the counter. "The ones with less power."

"What are they planning?" Buffy asked, giving him a shake.

"I don't know," he growled.

"So where are they now?" she demanded.

The bartender muttered an address in Sunnydale, and she finally shoved him away.

He straightened his crumpled shirt. "I want you out of here, Slayer. Leave."

One of the vampires asleep at the end of the bar, a redhead, popped his head up. "The Slayer's leaving?" he slurred. He pushed his friend to wake him up, and when that didn't work, gave him a shove. The other vampire and the stool he was sitting on fell to the dusty floor with a thud.

"What? _What_?" snarled the brown-haired one, putting a hand on the counter to pull himself up.

"The Slayer's leaving. We've got to get out of here. The Hellmouth isn't safe anymore!"

"The Slayer's leaving," his friend repeated, now standing. "Freedom!" He grabbed his nearly finished drink and held it up, shouting gleefully. "Toast to the Slayer! May she never come back!" He noticed Spike. "Hey look, there's Spike. Didn't you just leave? Come and have a drink with us. Toast to the Slayer!"

Spike glared at them darkly, his secret whereabouts revealed.

"Shut up, you fools," snapped the bartender. "The Slayer is leaving the bar, not Sunnydale, and the world is not going to end!"

"Oh," said the brown-haired vampire, falling quiet.

"You're just saying that so we'll keep buying your crappy beer," said the redhead.

"If you don't like it, then go somewhere else!" the bartender growled.

"But there isn't anywhere else," came the stupid reply. "Not in the daytime."

"Then either buy another drink, or keep your mouths shut and go back to sleep!"

The redhead who was worried thudded his head down on the counter and started snoring. The other slowly picked up his stool and sank down onto it. He finished off his beer, then his mate's, burped loudly, and fell asleep, slumped against the counter.

"Idiot drunks," muttered the bartender. "As for you," he growled, eyeing Harry, Buffy and Spike. "Out."

Spike headed to a back room, presumably one that had access the sewer system. Harry and Buffy made for the front door. They walked in silence for some time, with Harry consumed by his thoughts. A creature who didn't know him had sniffed out his secret torment. He had the scent of a killer, something he wouldn't have imagined was possible. It was depressing.

"You all right?" Buffy finally asked.

"Yeah," he said hollowly.

"What was all that about back there? The whole _just like them_ bit?"

"We know the same spells, that's all," he said gloomily. "I guess we've all used the Killing Curse."

"But the guys you killed were all bad, right?"

"Just one," Harry said dully, as they trudged to the Magic Box. "And yeah, he was."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay. Any comments on how to improve? 


End file.
